


Dark Christmas

by anniespinkhouse



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bestiality, Blood Kink, Boot Worship, Breast Fucking, Christmas, Cock Cages, Cock Warming, Collars, Curses, Dark, Demon!Dean, F/M, Hellhounds, Humiliation, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Knotting, M/M, Minor Character Death, Orgasm Denial, Other, Torture, Watersports, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-12
Updated: 2015-12-12
Packaged: 2018-05-06 06:00:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5405660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anniespinkhouse/pseuds/anniespinkhouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Demon Dean proved to be stronger than Castiel in 10.03. While Dean took the last trace of life from the angel, Sam made a last ditch bid to contain him. The curse he chose damned them both.</p><p>The Mark of Cain demanded fulfilment. When it couldn’t have death, it took pain and humiliation. This Christmas it would have all three.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dark Christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [meus_venator](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meus_venator/gifts), [Syls Darkplace (sylsdarkplace)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sylsdarkplace/gifts).



> I wanted to write Christmas!fic and I really needed to write dark!fic because there hasn't been nearly enough darkness from the TOEs this year. This is a gift for those TOEs who have battled through serious illness this year and yet never stopped being supportive. They deserve hugs and y'know porn and torture. xx 
> 
> Disclaimer: This is fiction, pure fantasy folks. Nobody here belongs to me and they’re not likely to get in my van for candy any time soon. In fact if the CW ever saw this there would probably be a restraining order issued.
> 
> Please heed the warnings. This is the darkest and nastiest fic I have ever written. Demon!Dean has no redeeming qualities here. It is intended to be disturbing, because y'know - DARK. 
> 
> This was beta-ed by the wonderfully squick-free, Tipsy-Kitty. Thank you.
> 
> And last but not least I am so, so, sorry fufaraw, because you deserve fic too - and I will try to get you something Christmassy written, but I know this particular brand of dark isn't your thing. (How does some Y Gwyll or Primeval fic sound?)

 

***

Christmas Eve and all was quiet. Well, except for the sniveling of a stupid whore. Dean shoved her through the door of the bunker, bruising her in his grip.

 

“I said the Admiral Motel,” she sobbed. Her make-up had run and she pulled at her lacquered hair. She had looked better in the bar, or maybe Dean had been distracted by her big, round tits.

 

“Shut up! You've been paid.” Dean's eyes clicked black.

 

She screamed.

 

Dean growled. He held her by her neck over the top stair. Her feet scrabbled through the air.

 

“This is getting old. Are you going to shut your trap? We're here to have fun.”

 

Her red painted lips formed an O and then closed. She nodded in defeat. He put her down, pushed her toward the stairs with silent command. She tottered on stilettos as she took the steps.

 

“Good girl. Sexy times.”

 

He looked ahead to the base of the stairs, where he knew his bitch would be waiting.

 

“Dean.”

 

Sammy spoke his name like a prayer. It could give a demon an inflated ego.

 

Dean didn't look directly at his little brother. Not yet. Sammy was a needy bitch and Dean wanted to check he'd earned it.

 

The bunker was neat. Its tiles shone and wooden furniture was smooth with beeswax polish. The air was scented with the tang of cut pine. A slightly lopsided tree stood in a mop bucket in the dome where a telescope once peered up to the heavens. A silver winged angel was crucified at its apex, sharp needles jammed uncomfortably up its ass. Dean suppressed an amused grin. Sammy had done well.

 

Heaven and angels - they were a joke. What had heaven ever done for them? The Winchester brothers had been doomed from the start, lurching from one disaster to another while angels used and abused them. Nobody had ever answered their prayers.

 

These days Sammy only prayed at the altar of Dean. Sometimes, when it coincided with his own desires, Dean would grant him a wish, and his bitch would give him a hopeful smile and duck his head before remembering to thank him properly. He looked so pretty on his knees, his wide pink lips wrapped around Dean's cock and his hair tugged and mussed in Dean's hand.

 

Shona, or whatever her name was, reached the bottom of the stairs and stared at Sam where he knelt collared and naked on the floor, with a steel cock cage, cruel around his flesh. A snake tattoo around his right wrist opened one eye, raised its head and hissed at her. _Dean's property_.

 

“Oh, my...” she started to wail.

 

Dean was losing what little patience he had. He flicked one hand and she flew across the room to be immobilized and silent against the wall.

 

“It's Christmas. I paid for a party and I will get one. I have a special present for my bitch and I know he will have one for me.” Dean smirked and shot a glance at Sammy, to see him squirm. He knew that the spells woven into his brother's tattoo made it impossible for him to touch anything Dean forbade him to. Even the books in the library curled with flame and dissolved into ash with the touch of his fingertip. He had no way of obtaining a gift so he would have to be inventive, and Dean could help with that.

 

“Dean, please don't hurt her,” Sam spoke softly, beseeching him. Pathetic.

 

“She's not an innocent virgin, Sammy. She'll give me what I paid for.”

 

“Please.”

 

Those wide puppy eyes. It really was pitiful, but it was Christmas and he was excited about Sammy's present and determined to have fun.

 

The woman crumpled to the floor with a _whumpf_.

 

He indicated a door. “The bathroom is through there, go and get cleaned up. I didn't bring you here to hurt _you_. That's not my scene.”

 

He turned toward his Sammy, stood over him, let him grovel at his feet. “I got my boots dirty,” he said.

 

The bitch stuck his tongue out obediently. He lapped the toe of Dean's boot, leaving a wet trail of saliva where his tongue gathered mud. His nose wrinkled in disgust but he continued methodically, swallowing the grit, battling the dryness, until both boots shone black again.

 

Dean cupped Sam's chin, gently guiding him to look into his green eyes. He remembered to soften his features and alter his voice to resemble the Dean who came before him, the brother who Sammy craved. “Good bitch,” he praised.

 

Sammy's eyes glistened with tears, “Jerk,” he replied, and he tried so hard to make it sound real that Dean could almost believe it.

 

It was enough. Dean was eager to get on with the celebrations. He clipped a leash to Sammy's collar and tugged it until he was kneeling up.  “Would you like a drink?”

 

“Yes, please, Dean.”

 

“Good, I need a piss.”

 

Sammy held his poise, despite his obvious disappointment.

 

“Well, get on with it.”

 

Long fingers adeptly loosened Dean's fly and pushed his boxer briefs aside to curl elegant fingers around his thick and long dick. Sam opened his mouth with well trained care, and slid Dean's bar-sweaty cock between those soft lips cramming it to the back of his throat. Dean luxuriated in the comfortable wet warmth of it, such an indulgence to use instead of the bunker’s cold urinals. Sammy sucked gently, coaxing the first golden drops of piss from him like he wanted it. His hazel eyes, narrowed with resentment, gave the lie away.

 

It was the way it should be. Dean didn’t want him to enjoy it. He sighed with relief as he emptied his bladder, making Sammy gulp and splutter as he struggled to keep up with the bitter stream flooding his mouth. Dean’s cock twitched and chubbed with interest. He would have liked to stay and fuck that long throat, rough and cruel, but the main event was still to come, and he had hired a hooker with magnificent tits to get him off.

 

He pulled out as soon as he was done and let Sammy clean him with careful kitten licks, as thoroughly as he had his boots. Once, that alone could have brought him to orgasm but his senses had dulled to simple touch and sight. He craved something darker.

 

He stroked Sammy's hair, gentle and affectionate, “So good, my Sammy. My clever bitch. You've earned your Christmas present.”

 

And he had. Sammy had earned everything that happened to him from the moment he was thrust into Dean’s arms as a baby. The Boy King had screwed up Dean’s mortal life with his demon-blood. How ironic was it that Sammy was the bitch on his demon brother’s leash now?

 

The Boy King is dead. Long live Dean.

 

Well actually, forever live Dean, tied to this stinking bunker, and immortally bound to his brother, and that was Sammy’s fault too, because he would go to any length to prevent his brother from becoming the monster who ravaged the entire world. He had brought Dean home to the bunker, dosed him with human blood, and when it had failed and Dean stood over Castiel’s dying body, Sam had lit a spell and cast the words that would eternally sacrifice himself to his demon brother. He had bound them together and to the bunker, to be eternally zapped back into its old-fashioned comforts every midnight, like supernatural Cinderellas.

 

It pissed Dean off, and the Mark of Cain demanded fulfilment. If it couldn’t have death, then it would take pain and humiliation. This Christmas it would have all three.

 

Sammy knelt, stoic as ever, but he was scared. Dean knew his brother - he was, after all, a master torturer. He stroked that soft, mussed hair again, careful to mask his anger. “You don’t look excited, Sammy. Don’t you trust me? I know you better than anybody and I chose a gift just for you. Isn’t it great to celebrate Christmas together with no hunting and no third wheel.” He gave a generous smile and patted Sam’s head.

 

“It’s supposed to be about God. You’re a demon, Dean.” The sarcasm was strong.

 

Sammy was cursed to be Dean’s property, unable to run from him or defend himself. Nevertheless, breaking him was tough. Lucifer had played with Sam for thousands of years in the confinement of the cage, and he had developed coping techniques. It seemed pointless keeping him in the dungeon permanently. Dean had worked a spell into the heavy iron collar that he sealed around the bitch’s neck, limiting his world to a few rooms, and simply accepted that he was never going to be perfectly meek. In fact, Sam’s sharp wit amused him.

 

There was just one unbendable rule; Sammy would obey him or suffer the consequences. Dean didn’t have to flay his skin to cut him deep. There were gentle gestures which reminded him of a brother he had lost forever, and harsh words that hit the target with a poison tip.

 

“Don’t be racist. My blood is purer than yours, you freak.”

 

Sammy cast his gaze back to the floor, his teeth chewing his bottom lip. It made Dean feel good.

 

“I, er, where would you like me?” The whore stood in the doorway to the library, her fingers nervously twirling strands of her naturally blonde hair.

 

Dean took the time to admire her. She scrubbed up well.  She had stripped down to a black satin chemise and sheer stockings while her stilettos remained. He didn’t bother to question her glazed eyes, he could smell the drug that coursed through her and see the calm it induced. It wasn’t a deal breaker. His stare focused back on her tits.

 

“Very nice,“ he commented, then to Sammy, “Now that’s quality. Look at that. I bet she’s all soft and wet and easy to fuck.” He flicked his gaze back to her but reached one hand to Sammy’s left nipple and squeezed the nub of it, digging his fingernails in hard enough to leave raised red crescents. “What size are her tits, E, F? See, Sammy, this is why you’re not so fun. I can’t bury my head in your pathetic chest. There’s nothing to hold onto or get my mouth around. No pillow. I’m surprised I can even get it up with you. If you had tits maybe you could hold my attention for five minutes. I might never need to bring anyone home.”

 

Ah! There it was. A slow blink, a bitten lip and a clenching fist. Guilt; that was always a winner with Sammy. Nobody left the bunker alive, and now it was his fault that Shona was here.

 

Sammy visibly startled when Dean pulled out a chair for him and made him sit down. Dean poured three glasses of whiskey and Sammy sat rigidly, with trembling hand around the cool crystal and took a sip. It was a long time since he had been given such a privilege and Dean saw him swirl the drink around his mouth, erasing the bitter aftertaste of piss before swallowing with a blissful sigh.

 

“There, Sammy. Good eh?”

 

Dean made himself comfortable on a sturdy oak seat and crooked his finger at the whore. “Sit on my lap,” he instructed. He took his glass and clinked it against Sam’s, toasting the moment with a “Merry Christmas, Bro,” while she spread her legs obscenely and sat with her breasts pertly displayed in front of his face. He buried his head in their squashy comfort, blew a raspberry on them, licked a stripe between her nipples and circled them with his lips, making her gasp and giggle.

 

The twin snake curse on his left wrist writhed and hissed an objection, _Sssam, Sssam_ , but he ignored it. He stole a sideways glance at Sammy and reveled in his confused jealousy.

 

It was his party. With a click of the remote he blasted Christmas music through the bunker. “Sing with me!” he demanded.

 

_Sleigh bells ringing_

_Are you listening_

_In the lane_

_Snow is glistening_

_A beautiful sight,_

_We're happy tonight_

_Walking in a winter wonderland_

 

Shona wailed the lyrics, like a cat in heat. Sammy was quieter, stumbling over words and missing notes but gaining confidence as he continued. Dean belted it out like he had an audience. It gave him a heady, rare sensation, maybe happiness, or simply adrenalin, but it didn’t last long. Two anthems later, and Shona was rosy-cheeked and pliant on his lap and Sammy had finished his tumbler of whiskey and relaxed just a fraction.

 

Dean was bored. His demon wanted more. It wanted power and pain and death.

 

The music snapped off leaving an uncomfortable silence. Dean lifted Shona from his lap and set her on the table. He riffled through a bag and produced three holiday crackers. Sammy’s face creased adorably with distrust. “We cross arms like this and each pull together,” he explained as if to children and proffered them again. “You have to tell the jokes and wear the paper hat. If you’re very good. I’ll let you keep the toy.”

 

Shona giggled and took the ends of two crackers firmly between her fingers. Sammy held his like they were sticks of dynamite and there were beads of sweat on his brow. It was hilarious. They tugged together and Sammy squeezed his eyes shut at the noise - barely a pop, let alone a bang. He opened them again, and his shoulders dropped with relief at the sight of a rolled paper hat, a large plastic paper clip and a joke.

 

“What says Oh Oh Oh?

_Santa walking backwards!”_

 

Dean laughed loud and long at each joke and fussed at setting a green hat on Sammy’s hair, telling him how majestic he looked. He told him he could keep the paperclip and Sammy grasped it in his fist like it was a precious gem. Dean’s hands lingered on the smooth flesh of his shoulders and massaged the back of his neck. Sammy moaned. His bitch was relaxing. It was time to change things up.

 

“Presents now!” Dean announced. There was little shudder of excitement which coursed through him. “You first Sammy. What have you got for me?”

 

All the cheer left Sammy in a moment. He stilled and looked up at Dean, hazel eyes wide with undisguised panic, “I, I...I haven’t got, there’s nothing….” He held out the paper clip, the only thing he owned.

 

Dean shook his head slowly, full of loathing and disgust. “You always were selfish, Sammy. Always wanting more, never grateful for everything I do.” He tutted, “I can’t believe you didn’t think of anything to give me, and I thought long and hard about your present.”

 

Sam shrank back from him then slid from his chair, to his knees in front of his brother. He smoothed his hair and licked his lips and looked up at him, long eyelashes fluttering. His fingers searched out Dean’s belt and he started to unbuckle it.

 

“Really, Sammy?” Dean aimed a hefty kick into his stomach, launching him backwards with an _oomph_ to land on his back in a heap. “I can have you any time I want you, and today I have someone much prettier.” He leaned into Shona, kissed her aggressively on the lips and squeezed a tit in each hand.

 

Sammy struggled back to his knees. He really was a pitiful sight.

 

Dean faked concern. “I don’t want to spoil Christmas. How about I give you and Shona your presents and you can think about what you can give me and tell me after?”

 

Sammy nodded, eager for a reprieve, “I’m sorry, Dean.”

 

Dean stroked his face tenderly, “I know and I forgive you because I’m still your big brother, aren’t I?”

 

“Of course, Dean,” Sammy lied.

 

One day Dean was going to set up a lie detector and use it on the bitch, watch him sweat and squirm, but that would break the boredom of another day.

 

“Stay here, Sammy. Don’t move. It was too big to go under the tree.” He leaned down and kissed the top of his head.

***

 

Two hell-hounds howled and jumped up, almost toppling him when he opened the door of the dungeon. Dean flinched but he cracked a short whip and clicked his fingers, and they quietened and sat patiently beside him.

 

He hadn’t been lying when he told Sammy that he had thought hard about his gift. His memories of Hell hadn’t lessened with the Mark of Cain and he had never liked dogs. The fact remained that theirs was a lonely life within the bunker. Any acquaintance was fleeting and sure to end in an untimely death. A pet made sense.

 

A little research had established that not all hell-hounds were bred to rip the flesh from a soul. Rapists and pedophiles were dragged to Hell on the fat knots of hell-hounds with a voracious sexual appetite. With their sexual needs met, they became docile and loyal pets, and they at least resembled an enormous dog - furry, with teeth half the length of normal hell-hounds and much less mucus to drip on the floor.  

 

Sammy led a life limited by spell-work and curses, but he was smart and he had time on his hands. It was a dangerous combination for Dean. Such hell-hounds would keep his bitch too busy to skulk around, and the image of him being fucked on all fours on a knot the size of his fist gave Dean a thrill that fattened his cock and curled his toes.

 

Dean had them sniff Sammy’s towel. “Time to meet the bitch, boys.”

 

Claws clicked on the wooden floor and Sammy peeped curiously through a curtain of his shaggy hair. Shona’s eyes widened at the sight of the huge hounds and she swung her legs up onto the table she was sitting on.

 

“Well? Whaddya think, Sammy? Awesome eh?”

 

The hell-hounds came into his view and Sammy’s face cycled through a host of expressions, from initial excitement, to confusion and trepidation. It settled on abject fear. His hands formed white knuckled fists and he froze, perfectly still. The bitch was smart.

 

The hounds sniffed the air and recognized their prey. They bared their teeth, pawed at the floor and bayed together and Dean could barely hold them back. He gave both of them a single swipe of the whip over their muzzles and admonished them. “Ah, ah, boys. Sit! Wait for the introductions.”

 

They sat but their whole bodies wagged with their tails, and fat, wet tongues licked their chops as they centered all of their attention on the naked bitch with holes to fill. Their ugly dog dicks fattened and grew, poking obscenely from their sheaths.

 

Shona’s mouth opened, ready to scream, but Dean’s fingers clicked and she was silenced and immobilised.

 

“You can unwrap your gift in a moment. Sammy is always first.”

 

He didn’t miss his brother’s sudden panicked movement, a shuffle back on his knees until his toes met the immovable wall of bookcases. His disobedience was a bonus for Dean. He stepped over to him, grabbed his leash, and with a single yank, dragged Sammy by his neck across the floor to the hounds. “I told you not to move.” He raised the whip and brought it down with a resounding smack on the pale flesh of his bitch’s perfect round ass.

 

“Agh! I’m sorry, Dean. Okay, I’m sorry. You can stop now. I promise I won’t move again until I’m told.”

 

Dean rained down another ten blows anyway, admiring the mark of each one as it developed from a shiny white slice to a livid red weal within seconds. Sammy looked good in stripes.

 

His bitch flushed a deep pink all over and whimpered. Dean knew that he could take much more pain, but the shame of needing punishment was ingrained in Sam by their father so many years ago. Dean delighted in the physical evidence of it, and his cock perked up to strain against the zipper of his pants. He ground the heel of his palm against it. It was all so good, and he wanted to take his time and savor the taste of disappointment, hopelessness and fear. It was intoxicating.

 

“You haven’t thanked me. I thought you’d be excited. Do you know how hard it was to get these for you? I don’t even like dogs. You’re so ungrateful.”

 

“I am excited,” Sammy was quick to plead. “It was unexpected. I was shocked, okay? Thank you, Dean. They’re amazing. Can I touch? Do they need food? Water?”  

 

“Hmph. I guess. They’ve eaten today but there will be meat in the larder and a water bowl in the kitchen. They like ear scratches.”

 

“Huh,” Sammy looked relieved, “May I?” he pointed a thumb at the hounds.

 

Dean nodded and sighed happily. “I knew you’d love ‘em.” He cupped his brother’s chin, angled his head up and kissed him on his mouth, snaking his tongue inside. He could feel the heat of Sammy’s body, his racing pulse and the faint tremble that he tried so hard to hide. Dean finished with a nip of the soft pink lips, cruel enough to raise a pearl of blood which he sucked away and swallowed. “Of course, they’re all yours, but you gotta take care of ‘em, brush ’em and play with ‘em every day. This one with the dark patch over his eye is Ram and this one...” he rubbed the cocked ear of the other, “...with the nick in his ear, is Rip.”

 

Sammy closed his eyes for a moment and breathed deep, relaxing his body. When his eyelids opened, his hazel-gold eyes were full of courage and resolve. He kneeled up and reached his hands out, one to each hell-hound, curling his fingers into the soft fur on their heads. It made Dean proud.

 

“They’ve been locked up all day and I don’t need your holes right now. I have someone prettier to fuck, with big tits and curves. You can play with 'em, show me me how much you love them. Hmm?”

 

The hounds whined and licked Sammy’s face, leaving a trail of stinking saliva over his lips. They stood, and their paws skittered on the smooth floor as they pranced and jumped around him in anticipation, dwarfing him on his knees.

 

“Is there a ball or something?” It was pleading, a desperate denial of what was about to happen to him.

 

Dean chuckled, cruel and harsh. He stroked Sammy’s cheek. “Oh, Sammy, Rip and Ram have balls full of doggy come for their bitch, and those testicles are going to be slapping your tender ass cheeks while they rip and ram their doggy cocks into your hole. It’s how they like to play.”

 

Sammy reached out to him, begging, “No, please, Dean. Don’t do this. You don’t want to do this. It’s not you.”

 

Rip growled as Ram’s tongue lapped Sammy’s inner thigh. He sniffed his ass and eagerly spread the cheeks with his wet nose to push his tongue into the sweet bitch-hole. Sammy squirmed in an attempt to stop it but he stayed, obedient to his promise. The hound continued with an insistent push and lap of his tongue and Sammy blushed again and whined, a sound somewhere between agony and arousal. “Get them off me!” His rim shined with gooey saliva and Dean wondered if Sammy had prepped for him coming home. Lubrication wouldn’t prevent the agonizing stretch of that pretty hole but it could ease it. He hoped he hadn’t.

 

“Do I have to chain you to the breeding bench, bitch?”  Dean had strapped him to it extensively during the first weeks after Sam had cursed them. He had discovered how chains and shackles triggered Sammy’s worst memories of  monsters, demon blood, and the Cage.

 

Sammy swallowed back further protests. He’d learned that they were futile. “No, Dean.”

 

“Good bitch. Now, on all fours and spread ‘em. These boys are going to tear you wide and make you scream. You know it’s what I need and what you deserve. Show your appreciation, Sammy.” He winked at him before commanding the hounds, “Sic ‘em, boys.”

 

The hounds yelped their excitement, their dicks now fully extended. _Hung like horses_ probably wasn’t much of an exaggeration. Sammy looked away from them and closed his eyes tightly, scrunching up his nose and setting his lips in a thin line. His arms held him rigid, and his hands were flat to the floor, with the plastic paper-clip peeking from under his palm, something good to hold onto, something _his_ , no doubt. Dean decided to let him keep it.  

 

The hounds fought to be first to fuck the bitch. They snapped and growled as they clambered over him and Sammy’s arms braced under their weight. His green paper crown slipped from his head and drifted to the floor and was torn into messy pieces in the scramble. Paws scrabbled over flesh leaving bloody claw marks, and their dicks bobbed as they humped against every inch of him, and left pre-come in his hair.

 

 _Sweet Baby Jesus, it was a delicious sight_. Lust pooled in Dean’s belly and he couldn’t wait any longer. He positioned an armchair for the best view and sat, legs spread wide, then snapped his fingers. Shona took a gulp of air.

 

“No screaming!” ordered Dean, “C’mere. You’ve something to unwrap.”  He humped his crotch into the air lewdly.

 

She tottered over to him, taking tiny, horrified glances at the spectacle taking place on the floor.

 

“Don’t mind Sammy. If he wanted it to stop, he’d use his safeword, now wouldn’t he, sweetheart?” Of course his bitch didn’t have a safe-word, but demons lie - _hell_ , even the _old_ Dean lied.

 

“Oh!” She perked up a little. Consensual humiliation was apparently something she could relate to. Her opinions weren’t important to him though. Excitement thrummed in every beat of the blood around his body and he couldn’t separate the _need, need, need_ of the Mark of Cain, from the _want, want, want_ of his eager cock.

 

He pushed her to the floor in front of him and she lowered his zipper with capable hands.

 

He wasn’t watching her. Ram won the battle for pole position and he slid over Sammy’s back, looking for traction, desperate to pound ass, but not quite succeeding. His dick slipped between Sammy’s ass-cheeks, and he thrust his hips forward hard and fast, attempting to sink his rock hard dick into the tightly clenched hole. He bore down with his full weight up the crack, and then down again, pounding into into the delicate skin under Sammy’s balls. It was going to bruise.

 

Rip wasn’t going to be defeated. He sniffed around Sammy’s nipples and opened his mouth to taste them. Dean saw Sammy wince as jagged teeth clamped down and shook a dark pink nub, forcing Sammy to rock side to side with the hound’s muzzle.

 

Wet heat enveloped the tip of Dean’s cock and he pushed up into Shona’s experienced mouth. He chased the high of orgasm, yet it eluded him. There was something not quite right about the delicate mouth and red lips despite her keen fellatio. The serpent on his wrist writhed and hissed. _Ssam_. He had a better idea. He pushed her away. “Hang on.”  

 

He yanked Sammy’s leash once more, to drag him to the best angle to watch Dean fuck Shona. Blood sprayed from the nipple that Rip had been teasing and Ram yowled angrily at the disturbance and bit possessively into Sammy’s shoulder. Sammy screamed. A jolt of desire shot through Dean, his cock twitched and his balls ached for release. He wanted to run a finger through the blood, put it in his mouth and taste it. _Later_ , he thought.

 

Shona started to tremble, “Is he…,”

 

“He’s loving it,” Dean growled. She was annoying the crap out of him, but he had a plan to manipulate Sammy and she was part of it.

 

“Sammy, open your eyes. It’s not polite to ignore us. If you don’t open them now, I will sew them open permanently.”

 

Sammy whimpered, but his eyes opened. A single tear dripped from a long lash, and rolled down his cheek, joining a bead of sweat. His hair, damp and ragged now, stuck to his face, absorbing it all. It looked like fine art to Dean.

 

Dean shoved Shona. “Kneel up and push your tits together, I’m gonna fuck’em.”

 

She did as she was told, cupped her tits and offered them to him with a sexy pout on her lips and a moan that was worthy of a porn channel.

 

Rip stopped to lap blood from the floor while Ram continued his quest for his holy grail, battering Sammy so hard with each hump that he rocked forward, almost losing his balance.

 

Dean fixed his gaze on Sammy’s face and gave him a shit-eating grin as he spat on his hands and spread the saliva over his cock to ease his way. He ground his hips up, sliding it between Shona’s powder soft breasts, and she squeezed them around it, as tight and hot as a cunt. “See, Sammy, this is why you bore me. This is why you’re only good for the hounds. I can’t fuck that disappointing flat chest of yours. This is… hmm, heavenly.” He thrust into her cleavage, exaggerating his movements. He knew it wouldn’t take much to tip him over the edge, but it had little to do with the pillowy warmth and friction of Shona’s tits, and everything to do with the heated thrill of watching the hell-hounds rape his bitch.

 

In fortuitous timing, Rip nuzzled Sammy’s undamaged nipple, snapped and scraped it, looking to suck it deep into his mouth.

 

“Even the hound is looking for a tit,” he mocked.

 

He continued tit-fucking, lunging up far enough that the tip of his cock poked from between the mounds. He pushed Shona’s head down to suckle on the end of it, and on each thrust her tongue explored his sensitive piss hole and she rolled her tongue around his glans, flicking and teasing with expertise. He moaned and squirmed, holding back as long as he could.

 

Ram continued to hump and with better position and leverage success was inevitable. The wide head of his dick caught on Sammy’s puckered rim, and pressed in, violent and insistent. The muscle opened with a ragged tear and Ram plunged home, opening him up too wide, too fast, filling him to the hilt.

 

Sammy screamed, high pitched and frantic. His fingernails scraped the floor, looking for something to anchor him, and his face crumpled in agony.

 

Dean's bitch was being torn inside out and the sound of it went straight to his dick. “Fuck! Yes! Yes. Love it when you scream for me, Sammy! So fuckin’ hot.” One final plunge into Shona’s cleavage had him shooting a pearl necklace over the arch of her breasts and the hollow of her neck. He didn’t stop to watch her expression. He wasn’t interested. He clutched her head in one hand and her shoulders in the other and wrenched quickly. He felt the grating of her bones and savored the sound of them snapping.

 

Sammy’s wheezing cries provided a happy soundtrack for his post-orgasmic haze and he wallowed in his sensations, high on death and sex. _Powerful. Unbeatable. Immortal. Invigorated. A merry fucking Christmas to me._

He didn’t bother tucking his cock back into his pants. He used Shona’s hair to roughly clean himself, kicked her twitching body under the table and stood.

 

Blood lubricated Sammy’s wrecked channel and Ram continued unabated, plunging balls deep at a merciless pace.

 

Dean watched fascinated as the battered hole stretched translucent-thin at its edge, bleeding from small tears, and swallowing the hound’s length like some sort of magic trick, only to reveal the torturous plunger again, time after time. A swelling appeared at the base of the dick and Sammy tried to shuffle forward, away from it. Ram bit harder on his shoulder. Blood trickled like rain on a window, down Sammy’s arm.

 

Dean extended his middle finger and traced it through the crimson lines before lifting it to his mouth and licking the blood off it. He tasted it like wine, rolling it around his mouth, appreciating texture, taste and scent. It was an exquisite vintage.

 

“Can’t. _Please De_ ,” Sammy sobbed.

 

His open mouth attracted Rip’s attention where he had been humping his dick into Sammy’s neck, leaving a disgusting slime. The hound turned and put his paws on Sammy’s shoulders and hefted himself up so the tip of his dick, met Sammy’s lips, drooling vilely into his sobbing mouth. Sammy spat a glob of it to the floor in disgust and snapped his mouth shut.

 

Dean grinned widely. He hadn’t imagined such a deliciously degrading show.

 

“Don’t be a wimp, Sammy. They’re only playing. Now be a good bitch and let Rip have some fun. You’re perfectly capable of sucking his dick, so don’t be a tease. I might have to let them DP you if you don’t.”

 

His threat had the desired effect. Sammy’s mouth opened wide and obedient, and his tongue swiped a stripe around the ugly, swollen member. His stomach muscles heaved but he managed not to vomit. Knowing that you would be forced to lick up your sick and swallow it back down was a powerful deterrent.

 

Sweat began to roll off Sammy in waves and Dean could see him starting to hyperventilate but he pulled back from the brink, blinked his eyes slowly and breathed steadily through his nose; seven in, seven blown out slowly, calming himself. When he swallowed, he looked up at Dean with a glimmer of triumph because he had succeeded.

 

Dean crouched beside him and patted his hand - virtually the only part of him which wasn’t hidden under stinking, sweaty, hell-hounds. With the other hand he fisted his own cock which was returning to half mast. “Such a clever bitch for me. Gonna take that knot and let it breed you, yeah? Let it fill you up and love it like the whore bitch that you are? You’ll be tied for a while. We should time it and keep a record. See which dog can tie you the longest.” He was genuinely excited about the prospect of a competition between the hounds.

 

Ram’s burgeoning knot caught on Sammy’s hole, too large for easy access. The hound yelped and bore down powerfully on Sammy. Sammy’s shoulder muscles juddered. He had the full weight and thrust of two hell-hounds on top of him. It was a magnificent show of his strength but he was close to collapse. Dean grabbed a footstool and eased it under the bitch’s body, letting him slump over it, his knees splayed wide for Ram to continue pound into his hole and his head forced up to suck the tip of Rip’s dick.

 

Dean wished he had thought to have something to record it with. It was too late to search the bunker for a movie camera but he would remember to film it next time. It would be ideal for movie night with Sammy, or he could upload it to the internet for anyone to watch and share the comments with him.

 

Frantic panting and fresh tears announced the knotting; Dean stood over them, with his cock in his hand, watching the flutter of Sammy’s hole as it tried to clamp shut to deny access to the relentless cricket-ball knot. It was only slightly bigger than Dean’s fist, but rounder and he told Sammy so, encouraging him to push back and take it. Of course, when he fisted him, he always worked his hole open slowly with lube, but eh, brute force would work too.  

 

The moment came suddenly, with an animal screech from Sammy. His hole gaped open, wide and greedy and the rim stretched ragged around it. Ram howled joyfully and pushed on, working his knot so deep that Dean could perceive movement and form at the base of Sammy’s flat belly. The excitement spread to Rip and he forced his own dick aggressively to the back of Sammy’s mouth, making him cough and filling his cheek to resemble a chipmunk.

 

Sammy gave another garbled screech and passed out, lax and pale.

 

Unconcerned and obsessed with breeding their bitch, the hounds continued to fuck him.

 

Dean frowned. Sammy was no fun unconscious.

 

The steady pooling of blood onto the floor was joined by another, clearer fluid. Dean squinted at it, perplexed at first and then triumphant. Semen dribbled from the tip of Sammy’s useless, caged cock. Ram’s dick must have lodged against Sammy’s prostate, milking him. Oh, this was too good for Sammy to miss. He considered collecting a bucket of water to throw at him, but he didn’t want to disturb the hounds’ rhythm. He was a demon, the most powerful of them all, and he had the ability to heal. He was reluctant to use it because suffering was so very enjoyable to watch, but this time the benefits were worth it. He touched his fingers lightly to the base of his bitch’s neck, narrowly avoiding Ram’s teeth.

 

The drip of blood ceased and the ragged edges of Sammy’s puckered hole knitted together and stretched smooth. Sammy stirred and moaned around a full mouth of dog-cock.

 

“Welcome back, Sammy.”

 

Glazed hazel eyes looked back at him, defeated. Ram continued to thrust, slow and shallow now he was tied. He licked his chops and snuffled with satisfaction.

 

“Uh, uh, oh,” Sammy’s cheeks flushed with arousal and shame. He couldn’t help his reaction to the pressure on his prostate. His hips pushed back unbidden, seeking completion.

 

“Enjoying it aren’t you, bitch?”

 

“I...De...Please…”

 

Dean reached under him to coat come onto his fingertips. He brought his hand back to show Sammy.

 

The knot continued to rock inside him, milking his needy sacs. Sammy rolled his hips and moaned.

 

“Don’t lie to yourself. Your own body gives you away. You’re a slut for dog cock. You want me to take off your cage, so you can come on your hound’s big fat knot, don’t you, bitch?”

 

Sammy’s cheeks colored like flame. He lowered his eyes and nodded. “Please,” he begged.

 

Dean gave a cruel laugh. “No, sweetheart. You already had your Christmas gift.”

 

Ram stilled, his tongue lolling and head held proud.

 

“Can you feel him, filling you with his come? Breeding you?”

 

The nod Sammy gave him was miserable. He ground his hips back against Ram, chasing an impossible orgasm and moaned again, full of pain, arousal and denial.

 

Dean could almost taste the desperation. His own arousal was peaking and he fisted his cock fast and hard. “Don’t be selfish, Sammy, Rip hasn’t got off yet and you’re not getting an orgasm, anyway. If you work his cock properly, I’ll make sure he doesn’t knot in your throat.”

 

Sudden wide-eyed horror indicated that Sammy hadn’t considered that possibility. Their predicament ensured that neither of them would die whatever their injuries. Suffocating on dog knot for an extended length of time was likely to be an unpleasant experience. He redoubled his attention to the vile dick in his mouth with lascivious sucking sounds and an active tongue.

 

Ram yawned and, satisfactorily tied to his bitch, he turned his back on him eliciting, another desperate moan as the firmly lodged knot dragged the bitch back a yard and Rip hung on to Sammy with sharp claws, walking on his back legs to continue fucking the open mouth.

 

The scene was perfect. Dean’s bitch was tear-stained, smeared with blood and come and spit roasted by hounds. He was so beautifully broken.  Dean came with a rush of dizzy pleasure, basting his whip-striped ass. He was finally sleepy and warm; content in a way he hadn’t been for months, since his last kill. He cleaned himself with a tissue, tucked his cock into his pants, gave a command to Rip, and padded to the kitchen.

 

He returned with a fresh cup of coffee and a bowl of water, and sat at a table studying the rest of the show with detached interest.

 

Ram was restless, trying to pull away from Sammy, making him cry with pain as he suckled Rip’s knot. He struggled to stay still and swallow the copious quantity of come that squirted into his mouth but he still dribbled much of it from the corner of his lips. After the hounds were done with him, Sammy would be licking blood and come from the the floor until it shone again.

 

Dean turned on the radio, sipped his coffee and hummed along to White Christmas.

 

Ram stayed knotted to Sammy for 32 minutes, Dean made a note of it, and Rip pulled his deflating knot from his battered lips soon after that. Sammy stayed curled over the footstool, his head down and legs still splayed, covered in bruises and scratches, and leaking come from his abused hole. Dean could hear his soft sobs and sniffles.

 

The hounds drank greedily from the bowl of water and flopped on the floor to sleep.

 

“Sammy,” Dean spoke gently, “You should have a drink.”

 

His bitch didn’t move.

 

He crouched by his side and offered the dog bowl. “C’mon, Sammy, you’ve earned a break. I can take a piss in a hot shower tonight.”

 

Sammy raised his head wearily and took the bowl from him, “Thanks Jerk,” he said automatically. He tipped it up and drank from the rim, like a giant cup, almost daring Dean to chastise him for it. This time he didn’t.

 

Dean curled his arm around Sammy’s back and eased him up. He staggered like a newborn foal and Dean supported him until his legs steadied.

 

“Your hounds are flat out, so,” he pointed at the body under the table, “Put the meat in the cold store, lick this mess clean and then have a thorough shower. You can come to bed to warm my cock as long as you get up early to look after your hounds.”

 

There was a look of confusion, as his bitch struggled to understand why Dean would want him in his bed any more.

 

Dean shrugged. “Having the hounds doesn’t excuse you from pleasing me. It’s not like I can find an endless source of holes to fuck, and that’s your fault. I don’t want sloppy seconds but I don’t care if you’re hurting. You’ll just have to clean up properly and find time for them when I’m not using you.”

 

“Right. Yes, of course Dean. Thank you.” Sammy’s voice cracked on the words ‘thank you’ and he swiped the back of his hand over his eyes.

 

Dean didn’t care, and it felt fantastic.

 

***

 

The bed dipped as Sammy got in.

 

“Dean?”

 

Dean turned to face him, “Yeah?”

 

“It’s still Christmas Day and I thought of something I can give you.” He took a gulping breath, and stuttered over his words, reluctant to speak them. “Tits. There must be a spell. You could...I mean. Anyway, if you let me search, in a few books, I might find a way and I could be better for you to fuck, with big tits.”

 

Dean laughed, pushed him down onto the bed, straddled him and pinned him by his wrists. He leaned in to steal a kiss, savoring the minty taste of freshly brushed teeth. He came back up for air and chuckled again. “Aw, Sammy. Nice try, but no books for you. I’ve already got the potion. Bought it from a witch last week, but thank you. It’s a great present and your dogs will love ‘em too.”

 

***

Sammy clutched his giant paperclip in his hand as he inched down the bed to coddle Dean’s cock on his tongue. While Dean had waited in his bed for his obedient bitch to come and serve him, Sam had discovered something important about hell-hounds; they could play fetch. It might be false hope but it certainly opened up possibilities.

 

**end**

 {Yes, I'm probably going to Hell, but comments are balm for my black, black soul.}

 

 

 


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